


The Goblin King

by LadyTroll



Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [6]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Goblins, I don't know why or how I created that one character, Roleswap, fantasy racism - mentioned, let it be known that I also have no idea how to make them leave, reversed Gloryhammer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: Follow the goblin, they said. It'll be fun, they said.
Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540978
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Goblin King

**Author's Note:**

> Before you ask: yes, I checked with aunt google for the words, and she gave me nothing.

What little was usually taught to the wizards, in regards of the lives of other peoples in the Kingdom of Fife and the rest of the known world, had normally run down to talking the lifestyles of the humans up – and, simultaneously, the lifestyles of anyone else, be it goblins, trolls, or other random beings, down. The humans lived in a neat society where everybody had their place and were provided for (in theory, at least, for practice painted a different picture entirely, even though neither the wizards, nor anyone else, the ruling class included, would admit it was easier to close one’s eyes and walk past such things), and everybody else were barbarians, at best, and monsters, at worst.

(“Why call the people living in the Far North, barbarians, then?” Jacques had inquired once, on the first year when the new students were given a quick rundown on the history of the kingdom, and that question had earned him a detention for a week, for no other reason than the teacher feeling like her authority was being questioned.)

According to these stories, goblins were little, filthy, thieving bastards who feared neither men, nor gods, and snatched everything they fancied, dragging away even the things that had been initially nailed to the floor. According to these stories, goblins loved the colour red, to such extent they were on a lookout for ever deeper shades, dyeing their clothes in human blood to achieve the deepest of reds possible. According to these stories, goblins lived in deep, dark burrows where a regular person ushered inside for a dinner – that they would be very much part of, in the literal meaning of that phrase – had to get down on all fours and crawl through, while fearing the earth and rocks were about to pour down onto their heads.

Zargothrax assumed there had to be places _somewhere_ in the system of tunnels he was being led through at the moment where humans would be required to crawl through. It would only be logical to assume there were. There always were such places in tunnels.

So far, however, he had seen none. In fact, he could have ridden through here atop of the unicorn (by now he was fairly sure it had been the unicorn in the forest last night, for nothing said “unicorn” better than said unicorn actually appearing, if only to stare him down from the distance), and he would not even have to bow his head. The ceiling was somewhere up there, in the shadows, where the light of his spell did not reach, where the strong wooden beams that supported it (“We make new ones when old ones bad!” – courtesy of the goblin) towered above the two figures like the carcass of an ancient beast that had found its last resting place in the depths of the earth. The walls sported quite a collection of shiny mushrooms and plants, and the young sorcerer had to resist the urge to stop and take a closer look at the marvellous species the members of which he had only seen in class a very long time ago – and back then they had been in large glass jars, for, according to the teacher, they were far too precious specimens to risk.

And here, specimens far more breath-taking than the ones they had had stored away in the dark cellars and the dusty attic of the Academy simply grew on the walls of an old tunnel.

He wondered where exactly he was being led to.

The stone plate covering the entrance to the tunnel had radiated something strange; something that felt like a pool of incomprehensible energy drawing you in and pushing away at the same time, sending pleasant shiver down one’s back while simultaneously awakening that slumbering feeling at the back of one’s head that had been responsible for sending their ancestors running without looking back from dangerous areas. One wished to both run and to continue on at the same time, and any sane person would have figured out there was foul play at work here and picked the former. Zargothrax, however, had had little choice but to follow the goblin who moved the stone plate aside like a mere wooden door to an outhouse, as the beastie ushered him inside, afterwards masking the entrance again, from any curious bystanders that might come across it, before the creature tumbled on, at the time still clasping the wizard’s cloak.

Ever since, the tunnel had gone ever downwards, deeper into earth, and Zargothrax wondered if, perhaps, these were old dwarven tunnels, and, if so, why would the goblin lead him here. Just downwards, deeper and deeper, twisting and turning like a snake, and he was ready to believe they were actually not in a cave but in the body of an ancient serpent-beast instead.

Light bounced off a large chunk of crystal – or was it silver, or gold, perhaps – in the wall, and then they turned around the corner one last time, and then both the wizard and the goblin froze on spot, waiting for their vision to adjust, and then the goblin was already pulling him along – again – as Zargothrax once again found himself cursing his faulty eye.

The stinging eventually subsided, and he was allowed to behold the place he had been brought to, in all of its glory:

It was as though somebody had taken a village and put it down here. Homes, lined up on two levels, sat neatly next to each other, yet in a respectful distance to give space to neighbours. There were cobbled streets and paths, laid out with colourful pebbles, twisting among them, and a bridge that crossed an actual small river that started in a side tunnel. There were lanterns burning bright in front of each house. There were stone statues depicting stout, short people, and there were statues of animals, both regular ones from the surface – unicorns included – and ones that the wizard had never seen before. Somewhere far above the buildings and the statues, and the river, there was a ceiling covered in climbing plants that shone in the twilight, their leaves and flowers leaving the impression of a night sky.

Martha would have loved this. Here he was, under a starry night sky made up of thousands of plants that sparkled in the darkness as though somebody had taken the stars and fastened them to the ceiling in a cavern underground.

At the far end of the cavern, there was a tall alcove with two stone columns on each side that looked like the gate to another part of the cave systems. Whatever its use had been to the previous settlers, it was impossible to determine now, for the passage it held weaved its way into the darkness beyond.

The sensible part of the wizard’s hoped he was not going to be led through there.

The curious part just about screamed its need to walk between those columns and into the darkness.

The wizard wondered how deep under the ground they were. He had tried keeping track as they descended, but had given up as the road kept twisting and turning, and, even if he had not abandoned this – rather futile – attempt, he would not have been permitted to finish the calculations needed, when something bumped into him, squealing.

The goblin tumbled, backwards, fell on its behind and remained sitting for a moment, staring up at the stranger, before it screeched something in their language and darted away as fast as its short legs could carry.

\- She’s fetching… - Zargothrax’s guide made a sound, similar to a parrot chatting, if that parrot were sitting on a tree branch while said branch was breaking off the tree.

\- A bit slower, if you can?

\- Karrikeh.

\- Karr…

\- _Karrikeh_ tells goblins what to do.

\- A king, then?

\- Quite so.

This voice did not belong to the goblin, Zargothrax only realized once he had finished speaking. Or, perhaps, it _was_ a goblin, but in that case, they had to be proficient in transformation spells, even more so than any wizard out there.

The goblin… person… creature… whatever they were, stood about a head taller than the sorcerer himself, their hair of raven black, skin like moonlight on snow, and their violet eyes seemed two glowing coals. Expensive, exquisite clothes the likes of which not even the royalty would smirk upon covered the slender body, complete with a cloak the colour of a night sky casually draped over one shoulder, silver embroidery gleaming in the light of the lanterns, ornaments arranged in the patterns of constellations. They moved slowly, effortlessly, the heels of their scaled boots clicking against the stone floor, and, when they smiled, a feeling of peace and safety embraced the recipient like warm water, and yet Zargothrax found himself incapable of shaking off the feeling that something was not quite right about them, the same feeling that had been present at the entrance to the tunnels. Their face was beautiful, as though their features had been sculpted by a skilled artist, and yet there was something eerie about it – something that could not be quite placed, that made the wizard uneasy when he beheld their features.

\- Oh, pardon me for my intrusion to your home, Sire, - Zargothrax made a couple of steps back when the creature approached. – My little friend here insisted I came along. I hope it’s not a problem.

\- Not at all, not at all. It’s not every day we are visited by wizards down here.

The eyes. There was something in the creature’s eyes that sent shiver down the young sorcerer’s spine, and not in the good meaning.

And it was not because this creature had so easily seen through layers of carefully crafted spells intended to hide their caster’s true identity.

\- My friends will be happy to host you for as long as you wish to stay. People of the old craft are always welcome. And your name, please?

 _A faerie_ , it dawned on Zargothrax, as he stared at the hand held out to him in a beckoning gesture.

_A faerie that had somehow claimed the leadership of the goblins._

He gulped, merely to give his brain more time to process.

\- If you know people of the old craft, - the wizard bowed, just a little, after what felt like a small eternity to him, - then you must know that a wizard’s name is too precious to give away, but you may call me, Scourge.

The old nickname was the first thing that had come to his mind. If it was never going to be used again by his friends, then he might as well use it for the greater good.

The greater good being not getting stuck in servitude to the Fair Folk until his last breath.

A toothy grin, far too wide to belong to a human, dawned on the otherwise perfect face.

\- Pleasure to meet you, lad.

\- Likewise, - Zargothrax’s cloak was grabbed once again, this time by the goblin that had bumped into him earlier, and he was now being pulled towards one of the buildings with strength that left very little room for protests.

***

The smell of dust and something nondescript, mould, perhaps, had been the first thing to meet him when Zargothrax crossed the threshold of the house he had been pulled rather than led to. The empty entrance hall – or what presented itself as such – had been dimly lit, in contrast to the street outside, by two small lamps carved in stone on both sides of the door that led deeper into the house. Wood that had – presumably – once been there had rotted away a long time ago, and the door had been replaced by a thick rug that the wizard’s guide had lifted, urging him to follow.

He had expected to see a bare room behind the rug. Just bare stone walls and nothing else, maybe a few piles of trash in the corners, for that was how the goblins _were_. Instead, the young sorcerer was greeted by another darkened, but orderly room that, judging by its size and the furniture, had served its previous owners as a living room and perhaps continued to do so even now.

\- You wait here, - the goblin squeaked, - and _karrikeh_ will come soon. Things to do first!

The beastie disappeared behind the rug-door before the sorcerer could object such turn of the events.

 _Great,_ Zargothrax fell onto one of the stone chairs, huffing and rubbing his backside after it came into – a rather unpleasant – contact with the hard material. _Just great. The last thing I need is to be one-to-one with a faerie._

He cast a quick look around the building. The house – and all it contained – appeared to be hacked from one stone, as though the architect had started from outside and carved their way deeper into the building, creating rooms and furniture, lamps on the walls included, to decorate them with as they went along. Aside from the door he had entered, there was one more separating the room from the rest of the house, likewise covered with a rug – one of utmost beauty, decorated with intricate ornaments, that must have cost their original owner a small fortune and looked fit for a castle rather than a goblin den. To complete the picture – and give the wizard all the more reasons to worry and plan ahead – stood on the table, there was a clay carafe with mysterious liquid inside, right next to a dish hacked into the stone surface that was filled with what appeared regular fruit – as normal as apples could be in the middle of the winter.

There were steps, Zargothrax realized with barely hidden horror, as the one that the goblins called _karrikeh_ walked towards the living room, and there was once again cold dread creeping up his spine.

The rug-door moved aside, and a figure emerged.

They were not much bigger than the rest of the goblins. In fact, they appeared smaller than the others, as they walked towards the table, accompanied by the sound of their staff clicking on the floor. The figure wore a cloak with a hood that had – quite curiously – holes cut into the sides, to permit large pointy goblin ears poke out.

Zargothrax gulped. 

The faerie might wish to talk to him incognito, hoping he would not realize it was them?

A foolish thought, but one could never be sure when it came to the Fair Folk.

Attempting to appear as casual as he could and hoping he was not going to get caught, the wizard sent a wave of magic crawling across the room and into the house, seeking any signs of fae magic, which resulted in finding no spells that could be used to alter appearance or mask one’s true identity.

\- Greetings, wizard, - the figure spoke, in a low, pleasant voice, and bowed, before taking a seat in the chair across from him.

\- I apologize for barging into your home like this, - Zargothrax decided that politeness was more important that being a small, frightened child when it came to dealing with unknown creatures, fae or no fae involved.

\- It’s not like you had much choice, dear, - the inhabitant of the house removed the hood, and the young wizard found himself sitting face-to-face with – thankfully – another goblin. – I know the youngsters can be very persuasive if they believe some things have to be done their way. I am Ch’iale, the _karrikeh_ of this tribe. I believe humans would call me the goblin king.

\- The _karrikeh_? But… - after the goblin had nodded, Zargothrax stared at the creature for a moment, and then stared some more. - Wait, if you are _the goblin king_ , then who… _who_ was that, outside?

\- The faerie? – the female laughed, and her voice reminded of the susurrus of water in spring. – Oh, no, no, dear, they’re not the king of anyone here. The truth is, we simply cannot figure out how to make them _leave_.

\- Oh. Oh, - the wizard rose, hastily, to give her a low bow, - forgive me. They just… I mean, I assumed…

\- It’s okay, dear. We all make mistakes. Now, - Ch’iale threw back the thick braid of silvery hair that had, until now, been resting on her shoulder, - tell me about the village.

It took a while to relay the events of the day before – and even more so to also cover the ones from the evening. It did not help that Zargothrax attempted to recall every detail he thought the goblin queen might find interesting or of importance, daring not to brush over even the moments that did not show him in a positive light.

Ch’iale was silent for the duration of the most of the story, occasionally nodding along or sighing, deeply so. Once it was over, the goblin just sat there for a while, her hands clutching the staff as she stared into the stone bowl.

\- Such is our bane, I’m afraid, - she finally looked up. – Another tribe joined us here, and I sent them out to look for food to add to our storerooms. Well… so it is. Now, onto you, then. You were on the way to…

\- The resistance.

\- We’ve heard of them. Not the nicest people around, though.

\- The prince isn’t exactly nice, either. I think we can both agree on that.

\- Your people and mine have been wronged horribly by him, yes.

A bit more of the silence that each of them spent in their memories, and there was the dull ache again in the sorcerer’s chest, before the goblin knocked onto the ground with her staff, the feathers attached to its top quivering on the impact.

\- It does not do, to dwell on sadness for long, - she exclaimed. – We will mourn those who have passed, and we will give them their dues tonight, but we yet live. Now, onto a more cheerful topic. I wish to extend a helping hand to you. Did I say that right? We are not the resistance, of course, and neither would we be welcome to them, or they to us, but… - Ch’iale began gesturing with her hand, as though trying to find the appropriate way to put her thought into words.

\- But a wizard is always useful to have around.

\- But the enemy of our enemy is our friend, - the goblin queen finished her sentence, paying no heed to the sorcerer. – I always forget how humans say that.

\- Goblins… say it differently, I suppose?

\- We say, - Ch’iale spoke in goblin, the language like frozen twigs breaking in crisp winter morning, - it means “one who threw you out of your cave threw me out of your cave”. Doesn’t really sit well with most humans, does it?

\- I suppose, not, - Zargothrax forced a smile on his face, with no idea how he should react to this statement. – I am honoured by your offer, - he added, hastily so, as it was clear the goblin was waiting for an answer other than a vague agreement, and was about to add a “but”, however no such chance was given to him.

\- Then it’s settled! – Ch’iale clapped her hands, before sliding out of the chair. – Ah, I do hope you’ll find this place befitting. We occasionally run into trouble with it, as you can see. This place was not built with goblins in mind.

***

\- Who built it?

They were outside now, even though “outside” was a strange word to describe a large cavern with. For her age, Ch’iale moved with surprising speed, now that she did not have to pretend being as regal as she had performed earlier (to leave an impression on the guest, of course), and Zargothrax had difficulties keeping up with her. He had picked the right name for Goblin, he figured, for the cat was likewise faster than most humans in a setting he knew well. The goblin manoeuvred her village with perfect sense of direction, as though she had walked the paved roads her whole life, and the wizard slowly began questioning the overall known “truth” of goblins being a chaotic, directionless species as they proceeded. In addition, word of the events of the previous day had spread, and there was not a house where somebody’s squeals or cries could not be heard from, and those of the greyish-green, long-eared critters they met outside stared at their _karrikeh_ and the stranger, with large, wet eyes before they went about their daily business.

Zargothrax noticed a beastie at one of the homes who was crouched in front of a large frame with what looked like a carpet in making, much like the one in the _karrikeh’s_ house. The creature cast a quick look at the stranger, enough to acknowledge his presence, before returning to work, the long fingers surprisingly fast with the strips of yarn their wove together.

\- It’s an old dwarven settlement, - Ch’iale explained, as she walked on. – I found it a long time ago. I was young then, out and about, willing to leave my mark in this world.

\- Out and about?

\- Humans call it… mmm… what was the word… _ketha… ketha…_ questing, I think? It isn’t _expected_ that we do, but some of us still choose to do so. It’s a quest for glory and fame among our kind. The ones that do, get crowned the new _karrikeh_ of the tribe when the previous one gets too old to fulfil her duties. Eventually, I led my tribe here, a few years ago. It’s a safe place to live. No human in their right mind will set a step inside a dwarven tunnel. Since then we’ve been here.

\- So, you’re… matriarchate?

\- I’ve no idea what the means.

\- Run by women?

\- Yes. Is that strange?

\- No, - now it was Zargothrax’s turn to formulate an answer, - it’s just… see, we’ve always been told that the goblins are ruled by the goblin _king_.

\- Oh, yes, I remember my grandmother told me about the human her great-grandmother met once. He was quite keen on learning everything about us. A bit too keen, if you asked her. A creepy fellow. Bit like the faerie, really. But you’ll find that out soon enough, I suppose. He only got _”karrikeh”_ out of her, didn’t bother asking what it meant.

\- I see. I apologize.

\- For what? – Ch’iale found it amusing. – It’s fun to watch humans get confused. But, to answer before you ask, the dwarves were long gone when I came here the first time. Their homes are sturdy and big enough, and one can easily host a couple of families.

For a while, they walked in silence, and Zargothrax devoted that time to inspect the cave closer. The buildings, he noticed, were of the same quality as the interior of the _karrikeh’s_ home. All of them were cut from the same cliff, with angles so perfect and geometric decorations of such beauty and precision that even the greatest architects among humans would have choked with envy. Even the low fences separating the river from the rest of the village on both sides were the same, and the wizard wondered whether the dwarves who had made the village had also diverted an underground river through here. Standing on the bridge, he could not see its bottom, just darkness under a layer of dark blue where the glowing star-ceiling reflected, along with a few dark shapes of what must be fish in there. The cavern – and he had noted that earlier already – was also warm. One always imagined underground caverns to be cold and damp, particularly in winter, and yet here he was, feeling as though he had stepped into a warm summer afternoon.

Whoever the architects and engineers building this place were, those people had not been ones to trifle with.

He wondered if, perhaps, instead of coming to a cavern and just carving the homes out of a convenient elevation, the dwarves had simply found a good place and then carved the whole cavern and the caves, and the tunnels leading to it, out of cold, hard rock.

Ch’iale calling out to him made the wizard lose the track of his thoughts, and Zargothrax noticed, shamefully, how far behind he was left, before breaking into a run to catch up with the goblin.

_And how did the king’s men even manage to kill those poor bastards in the forest, if goblins could run so fast?_

The sorcerer could feel somebody’s eyes on him, their gaze burning into the back of his head. Something similar Zargothrax had felt in the forest, only this was… The unicorn was not sinister. When they met, he had been angry at the whole world and probably wanted nothing more than to stab the human who had put him in the vulnerable situation, in the gut. But he was never sinister. But this? _This_ feeling sent cold claws running down the young wizard’s spine and made him dread turning around, for he was not certain what he would find there.

He made a mental note not to stay alone with the faerie.

***

Finally, it was silent. Zargothrax had no idea how late – or early – it could be, and neither did he particularly care. In fact, the only thing he cared about was that it was finally quiet, that he was lying on something soft (which felt like a luxury in itself), and that there were wards placed on the house to prevent anyone – the Fair Folk in particular – from entering without permission.

The goblins had kept him up for much longer than anticipated, demanding a recounting of the things that had transpired in the village and the forest, and Zargothrax had the suspicion they did so simply for the thrill of it, as, gathered around a fire in the largest house (he suspected it had belonged to the head of the village, in times of the dwarves), they stared at the sorcerer, their eyes wide as the beasties caught his words eagerly and wanted to hear the story again and again. The young ones, that was, for the elderly had listened once, before departing for the night, their shoulders slumped as though the star-ceiling rested upon them alone. It was thrilling and an entertainment for the younglings, Ch’iale had said, for they were not yet well-versed in the evil ways the world around them worked. They saw a thrill in the events they had not partaken in themselves and could hardly imagine the details as they had been, and death was something they had yet to get close and personally acquainted with.

Quite frankly, despite it all, Zargothrax would have preferred telling the story two more times, had it helped him to stay away from the faerie. Three times. As his luck would have it, however, after the third time Ch’iale had dismissed the requests of “just one more time, _karrikeh_!” by declaring it an utter disrespect towards the guest. It had not kept him from questions, though, and the wizard was grateful for that, for, all through the time spent in the room, he could feel the stare in the back of his head. The creature had been there, always, seated in the corner, wrapped in that night sky cloak of theirs as though thick smoke embracing them, their eyes gleaming from the depths of darkness.

Zargothrax was certain that they were going to try a different method of fae trickery, for such was the nature of the Fair Folk, and he was considered a desirable target. The last thing the young wizard wanted was to fall into an expertly crafted trap due to his own foolishness. The knowledge of the fae that the wizards had was even less precise than the one they had of the goblins (as it turned out), and most of it consisted of old folk tales and legends. Do not give name, do not give them _anything_ that might be interpreted even in the slightest as giving control over you to them, do not accept anything from them, unless given in gratitude, _and do not insult_.

He found that the last part lacked clear instructions, at least Zargothrax himself had never thought about how one could handle rejecting gifts and dances, and even giving one’s name to the fae and still remain polite doing it. Far as he – and the Fair Folk probably, too – was concerned, none of these were polite, at least if one had to find a way to manoeuvre away from them without actually using anything that could, again, be interpreted as handing yourself over to the Fair Folk.

Their conversation had felt awkward at best, and the feeling of slight terror had hovered over the wizard constantly, as Zargothrax tried to find a middle ground that would not put him in direct danger – as daunting as the prospect of handing the reins of your life over to a flirty faerie was, the thought of having to deal with _an insulted, vengeful faerie_ was just as grim.

_Martha would have punched them in the gut already. Well, assuming they were a human being, not of the Fair Folk. Scratch that, she probably would have anyway._

The young sorcerer turned over onto his left side and crossed arms on chest, staring into the stone wall stubbornly, as though it would solve all of his problems at once, if he did so for long enough.

He missed them all. And he missed Goblin.

**Author's Note:**

> Because let's face it, the Goblin _King_ is an idiot. "You want to destroy the Universe? OK, here's a key that unlocks the gate to the hell itself, LET'S GO!" WTF?
> 
> __________________  
> IF my calculations are correct, there are 4 more parts (three of them are one-shots or whatever it's called), until a certain cave-dwelling individual is finally introduced. IF nothing gets in the way, that is. Just thought you'd like to know, is all.


End file.
